


Unuttered

by fishingboatblues



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fluff, Incest, M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 09:19:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10487445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishingboatblues/pseuds/fishingboatblues
Summary: They’ve always been close, spending pretty much every minute together and nobody else. It’s just the way twins are and no one ever really seems to get it, it’s like there’s something weird about being best friends with your sibling or something. But…the problem is that things have changed and well, he doesn’t really know how to feel about it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the a prompt on the Gravity Falls [kinkmeme.](https://kinky-falls.dreamwidth.org/263.html?thread=160519#cmt160519)
> 
> I hope you like it!

It’s a Monday night and moonlight is streaming through the curtains of their bedroom, it’s calm and quiet but Stan can barely concentrate on getting to sleep, his heartbeat sounding somehow loud. It’s far past their bedtime, their parents having gone to sleep more than two hours ago but all is not right in the Pines family home. The household is sleeping peacefully, well, all but Stan that is and it’s weird really if anybody should be awake it should be Ford.

That brother of his usually stays up to read his paranormal magazines or, ugh worse still, _study_ but no instead it’s Stan burning holes into the top bunk, instead it’s Stan counting sheep and furiously getting maybe a little bit hungry picturing his Ma’s famous lamb roast.

Unfortunately for Stan he just keeps tossing and turning in his bunk, unable to rest and restless as fuck as he lays there looking like an idiot as wrapped head to toe in his blanket like an angry burrito. Normally right about now is when he’d be kicking the top bunk ‘lovingly’, waking up his nerdy brother and getting his attention in a way more dramatic than probably needed.

But there’s a reason why he hasn’t and it’s also the reason why he’s having trouble sleeping _at all_. He cares about his brother he really does and he knows they always share everything, that they always tell each other shit that’s bothering them...except for maybe a _couple_ of things but that’s normal, right? Most siblings keep more secrets than they do and the ones they _do_ keep are in the name of some kind of privacy, if only in the safety of their own minds since physical privacy is impossible when you share a room with somebody.

They’ve always been close, spending pretty much every minute together and nobody else. It’s just the way twins are and no one ever really seems to _get_ it, it’s like there’s something weird about being best friends with your sibling or something. But…the problem is that things have changed and well, he doesn’t really know how to feel about it.

It’s not a bad kind of change or anything, not even remotely but there’s just something different in the way they interact, in the way things feels between them. He doesn’t know what to call it either, which is the worst part as it makes him feel stupid for not having the right words for this, for not having the right words to describe the twist and turn of his stomach when he speaks with Sixer.

If he doesn’t have the right vocabulary for this how can ever hope to explain whatever the fuck’s going on to Ford? Ford may be book smart but when it comes to people and emotions he flounders like a fish out of sea, this is Stan’s area of expertise so if he doesn’t get it how will Ford?

He shakes his head to himself and resists the urge to groan into his pillow in annoyance, instead he crosses his arms and huffs in the darkness of the room like an annoyed little kid.

Stan doesn’t really know when things started to change, there was never really any big difference it was just small things, small moments that didn’t really mean anything, small moments that shouldn’t mean more than simple brotherly intent. Heck, he’s not even sure _what_ those moments are, maybe he’s just misreading them or being weird.

If Stan’s being honest it probably began after his disaster of a relationship with Carla. He’d come back home after being kicked to the curve for that stupid hippie and Ford, in a rare moment of intuition had just _known_ something was up. Ford didn’t ask, didn’t question or prod him for the details; it’s just not their way of doing things, instead he’d just sat down next to Stan and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. They sat there for at least an hour like that, Ford reading a book whilst Stan casually leaned onto his brother’s shoulder, almost falling asleep on him in the process.

 And that’s when things started feeling different, that’s when things started getting confusing for Stan and Stan doesn’t do well with confusing. He can deal with obnoxious and stupid shit, two things of which he is, but confusing? He hates being confused like this and not knowing up from down, he hates tipping toeing around crap like this, being subtle and quiet about shit is not exactly a Pines trait and it’s already starting to wear on him.

He hisses to himself and buries his head in his pillow to groan in frustration, an action he quickly comes to regret when he realises the pillow does less to muffle the sounds of his irritation than he had been expecting. He tenses for a moment, hiding his head in his pillow, body stock still as he listens for even the smallest sound, the smallest creak that could indicate that his brother might be in a lighter sleep than he’d hope.

A couple of seconds pass and he relaxes, his body losing tension. He almost fucking screams however, avoiding it only by virtue of biting his lip hard enough to taste a little copper, when he looks back up to see Ford’s head dangling over the side. His glasses somehow defying the laws of gravity, his hair fluffy and ridiculous as he peers down at him.

“Having trouble sleeping?” Ford asks as if he hadn’t just given Stan a heart attack.

“Jesus Sixer!” Stan replies. “If I weren’t already having trouble seeing that ugly mug of yours would’ve definitely made it that way, that’s for sure.”

Ford rolls his eyes in the dark, an action Stan can only see by virtue of the moonlight making their bedroom glow silver. “We’re twins, Stanley.” Ford retorts, voice tired but amused. “If my face is ugly so is yours.”

“Twins, Ford?” Stan questions, a smirk spreading across his face. “Sorry, Poindexter didn’t you get the memo? You’re adopted, Pa got given ya as payment for like an antique lamp or something.”

Ford shakes his head and even upside down Stan can see the grin lighting up his face. “I highly doubt that, Stanley.”

“Eh, doubt it all ya want Sixer but it’s the bona fide truth. Heck, ask Shermie when you get the chance, he’ll tell it to ya straight.”

Stanford chuckles, incredulous as he often is with Stan’s antics. “Whatever you say, Stan.” He says before frowning and lowering himself to the ground, his feet padding delicately on the floor of their room; the last thing either of them need is to wake their parents. “Why are you up anyway? You looked ready to pass out at dinner.” He asks, his tone turning concerned.

Stan sighs, not knowing what to say or what lie to spin if he deems it necessary. There is no real way to tell someone that something’s…changed about how the other person feels towards them, there is no real way to tell your own twin brother that you maybe want more than what you already have. Heck, Stan doesn’t even know what he wants; all he knows is that he wants Ford closer, but for the life of him he doesn’t know what that means.

Maybe Stan’s just lonely, maybe that’s the problem and it _is_ a problem; he’s always said that they don’t need anyone else but each other, in every moment of doubt his brother has had about their lack of friendships, their lack of _relationships_ outside one another he’s always proclaimed they had no need for anyone else. But here Stan is longing for affection and closeness when he shouldn’t be, it almost feels like a betrayal to desire a closer bond when they’re already as close as twins can get without somebody giving them odd looks.

Stan brushes off his concern and shakes his head to himself, trying to rid himself of his own thoughts. “Just couldn’t sleep, Sixer, I keep thinkin’ about stuff I probably shouldn’t. It’s stupid, really.”

“…is it about Carla?” Ford questions, hands fiddling awkwardly with themselves. “I know I’m not good with comfort or emotions in general, but if you need to talk about it I’m here you know and I’m sure I’m a much better alternative than sleepless nights spent thinking in circles.”

Stan sits up in his bed and pats the quilt down, signalling for Ford to come join him. Sure enough his brother moves forward and sits down at the base of Stan’s bunk, they don’t do this all too often these days but when they’d been kids they had always used to stay up chatting on Stan’s bunk. Sometimes they’d stayed up so late Ford would fall asleep without warning and they’d ended up sharing, sure they had always needed to rush in the morning so dad wouldn’t find out but he had always considered it worth it.

In all honesty he kind of misses those days.

“Yeah, kind of? It’s weird, Poindexter. I guess I’m just feeling lonely and stuff? I don’t know it’s hard to explain. Don’t worry about it though, I’m gonna be fine.”

Ford eyes him for a moment, squinting in the darkness at the abstract outline of Stan’s body under the covers, he sighs and begins shifting, moving on Stan’s bunk. “Make room, Stanley.” He says simply as he pushes himself into Stan’s space.

Stan frowns but does as told. He turns away from Ford and towards the wall, folding his legs closer to his chest as he manoeuvres himself to give his brother enough space for…whatever the fuck it is that he’s actually planning. “What the heck _are_ you doing, Sixer?”

“Helping you get some sleep.” Ford replies matter-of-factly, positioning himself against Stan in a way that’s far more intimate than either of them have been with each other in a long time. “I don’t plan on making this a habit but we have a test tomorrow and if you keep moving about it’s going to keep me awake.”

Stan’s eyes widen when he feels Ford squeeze in against his side, his chest flattening against Stan’s back. “You don’t have to coddle me, Poindexter.” Stan says sounding odd to both their ears, they both know if Stanley didn’t want this, didn’t want Ford’s affection, he would’ve taken matters into his own hands by now and refused outright.

Stan feels Ford shake his head against his back, his hair brushing against the ridges of Stan’s spine and some part of Stan mentally or otherwise, he’s too tired to be able to tell which, shivers at the sensation. There’s something almost provocative about it, something resembling an invitation, to what Stan doesn’t know, maybe he doesn’t even _want_ to know.

When Ford stops shifting and finally stills against his back, head resting on Stan’s shoulder close enough that he can feel Ford breathing against his ear it’s not unexpected. He pretty much knew that Ford was going to lie down next to him but he hadn’t expected for him to pretty much spoon him, he’d been expecting Ford to face away from him like guys always do.

But then again a sleep deprived Ford never did care much for propriety, in some ways to Stan it’s a shame he isn’t the same when fully awake; perhaps Stan wouldn’t feel so hungry for something outside his understanding if that were the case.  

“You’re squishing me, ya know that, Sixer?” Stan remarks, smothering the smile spreading across his lips into his pillow.

“Call it revenge for waking me up.” Ford shoots back with a yawn and Stan can feel him settling against his back, his hand reaching forward and draping across Stan’s chest casually as his head comes to rest atop Stan’s shoulder.

Before Stan closes his eyes he feels something clench inside his chest and he knows, knows it deep in his bones that something has changed, he doesn’t know what exactly but he knows there’s something different between them now. Something that he’d noticed weeks before, but now is far more apparent when lying close enough to breathe each other’s air.

They fall asleep like that and in the morning when Stan opens his eyes he wakes up to Ford’s face close enough that he can count Ford’s lashes, Stan having turned over to face him in his sleep. What shocks Stan more is that Ford is awake and staring back at him, seemingly having been transfixed by Stan’s face for some time.

When they lock eyes things feel oddly charged, oddly tense between them. Ford looks unsure for a fraction of a second and Stan frowns, confused but when Ford leans forward and kisses his cheek so softly and so hesitantly that Stan could blink and miss it his eyes widen and stay wide until Ford leans back to assess his expression.

Stan doesn’t say anything, for once he doesn’t know what to say he just lies there and stares at his brother. After a long minute of silence Ford averts his eyes, shame and something close to hurt spreading across his face and that’s the last thing Stan wants. He grabs Ford’s hand and holds it, making a point to press Ford’s palm against Stan’s chest just above his heart.

Ford’s head snaps back up immediately his eyes roaming frantically over Stan’s face, reading Stan as best as someone with too many brains and far too few social skills can.

They don’t say much as they get dressed for school but unuttered between them is a silent agreement, a strange but welcomed acknowledgement that something has changed about their relationship, something best explored privately.

If Stan smiles throughout the school day, if Stan smiles even when he gets a failing grade on his test then no one comments on it. They don’t need to and Stan wouldn’t care if they did, the only thing that matters is when Ford catches his gaze occasionally during class and returns it with a small smile of his own.


End file.
